


Seaside Serenade

by Keemax



Category: Uta no Prince-sama
Genre: Cecil's chronic fear of water inspired me at some ungodly hour and this is the result, For Mari! I hope you like it!, Other, Otoyarsene is mentioned as well as Haruka and Tokilock, PhantomThief!Cecil, SeaWitch!Reader, ambiguous reader, for Utapri Secret Summer 2019, i realized afterward that i may have also ripped off the little mermaid, just a tad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-26 19:32:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19774927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keemax/pseuds/Keemax
Summary: The Desert Prince's voice is the closest thing to a siren song that exists on land.Getting him to let you "borrow" a share of it isn't as easy as one might think, so, after learning of his less-than-royal hobby and his convenient fear of something a sea witch like yourself is quite familiar with, you do the only logical thing imaginable.You steal the gem he and that redhead had their sights on, put it around your neck, then wait for him out at sea.





	Seaside Serenade

**Author's Note:**

> For @MatchaSpice on Twitter :)

The Crown of Light was its name.

A thousand silver suns wink up at you, brought to life by the cushioned cut of the stone. It sits in the palm of your hand, as clear as ice, as cold as glass. You hold it up to the moon’s darkened silhouette, twisting it one way and then the other, watching the light flash across its ridges like pulsing constellations; vivid and alluring, even against their authentic counterpart.

You bring it to your chest and tuck it into the small drawstring pouch looped around your neck, pushing it into place with just the tips of your fingers. The fabric is already damp with the salt spray of the ocean swirling past you. From where you sit, half submerged in its shallow curves, it looks like an endless ink puddle, with the moon as your dimly lit beacon. A black pearl on a black velvet sky.

You remember the way the jewel sparkled beneath those soft, artificial lights in the museum. You remember the soft tang of champagne on your tongue as you watched the exhibition curator take a sip of the drink you’d brought him. You remember the glazed look in his eyes as your spell sunk like smoke into his mind.

You remember the jaunting jolts in his steps as he led you to its display case, his gloved fingers trembling over the glass, the muted confusion in his expression and the way his facial muscles jumped under his skin as he handed the jewel over to you, as if he wanted to scream.

He didn’t. Couldn’t. The potion wouldn’t wear off until later, when you were long gone and Tokilock had abandoned his chase of the peach haired woman long enough to realize who the true culprit must have been.

It would make a nice consolation prize, should the desert prince not turn up after all.

You lean back, press your damp shoulders flush against the stone at your back, and tune your senses into your surroundings.

For a moment all you can hear is the racket churned up by the waves as they pound against the cliffs behind you. The water swerves around you from where you sit, on a ledge of what was once part of the rocky terrain overhead, but now lay discarded, fallen from where erosion had sucked away its support years ago. Only your waist upward is free from the ocean’s passage, but it flicks higher than it should reach, wetting your upper arms, soaking the outfit you’d worn to the museum not an hour before.

Up on the clifftop, the trees whisper and the grass hisses. That seaside breeze combs its way through the foliage. Soft rustles and chirps of the midnight fauna. Beneath it all is the hum of the earth and the sigh of ocean; distinct, ancient energies that vibrate in your bones.

But then, a ripple.

It echoes like the notes on a flute, bright green rings of magic as fresh as spring. You sense, more than hear, the soft padding of paws and a stare branding itself into the side of your head, so you open your eyes again and turn your neck to face him. The corner of your mouth tilts upwards.

There on the lip of the cliff above, digging its claws into the soft earth, is a small black cat. Its eyes glow a brilliant viridian, even at this distance.

You turn back to the horizon, prop your elbow on your knee, and wait.

You don’t need to see him to know that he’s scrambling down the uneven cliffside like a mountain goat. You don’t need to see him to notice how he hesitates, slips and slides. You don’t need to see him to know that, once at the bottom, he jumps from rock to rock not matter the distance, claws scrabbling at slick stone, desperate to keep from falling in.

There’s a small puff of air from behind you, and you turn to lock eyes with the desert prince. They’re the colour of the shore in the Caribbean tropics, and his hair a rich dark brown, both somehow made more vivid beneath the new moon’s megre light.

You’d first locked eyes with him as you were following the exhibit curator - no more than a marionette dancing on its strings – between a crowd that swarmed like drunken bees all trying to communicate the whereabouts of the same location, but each one at a different rhythm and at a different stage of their dance. He and the redhead had been the only attendees standing stalk still, the only two who noticed the jewel being passed to your hands in a room of over a hundred.

You’d winked at him as you walked past and held a finger to your lips.

Now, he breathes harshly through his nose and straddles the boulder just behind yours in a way that involves wrapping all four limbs around it. His eyes are wide as he stares at you, monocle flashing dimly in the starlight like a muted distress signal.

He swallows. Points his chin at the pouch.

“I … need that.”

Your hand moves to cover it and you blink at him slowly, stretching your features into something smooth and innocent.

“ _Do_ you?”

“ _Yes_.” He frowns, and his teal irises darken “What use could you have for it anyway?”

You shrug one shoulder, relenting your expression to relax into default. You tilt your head to the side and slowly drag your gaze down from the tip of his top hat to the ends of his white gloves.

“A bartering chip.”

His mouth falls open at that, just a little.

He stammers the beginning of another question, but you cut him off by leaning forward, propping both elbows on the boulder and resting your chin in your cupped hands. “I heard you’ve got a little …” you purse your lips, “…divine blessing, shall we say.”

He reels back. As far as he can, anyway, whilst clutching his rock.

“I can’t give you that! I-“ he shakes his head “I wouldn’t even know how.”

You slide off the boulder and back into the water, flicking one of your hands from side to side. “ _Give_ is the wrong word, here. _Share_ and _exchange_ are more like it.” You wink at him, then move that same hand in front of you and pinch two fingers halfway together, as one would normally gesture to signal they were ‘this close’ to their target, “I only need a tiny piece.”

He snorts. “Why should I make an exchange? That jewel was ours – Otoyarsene and I had plans to meet up with our buyer later tonight. You stole it from us and then try to trade it back?”

“From _you_?” You raise your eyebrow, “I stole it from the man who owned it. Don’t tell me your years of living as a thief have made you so entitled, prince.”

His eyes darken again, at that, and you can feel your smirk stretching across your jaw.

“Our cause is much more noble,” he hisses, “We redistribute wealth to those who need it. Those men could be giving aid to others, but instead they buy pretty stones to put in little glass boxes.”

“Still thieving, isn’t it? The police don’t see a difference.” you shrug, then tilt your head to the side, “And how do you know my cause isn’t as noble as yours? Maybe I’m planning to use the power to help little orphaned dolphins.” You bat your eyelashes at him.

The set of his jaw doesn’t budge, and his glare sharpens, as if attempting to bore through your skull.

“My father once trusted one of your kind. She left him for dead in the dry flats, after draining him of his magic.”

You hold his stare.

“A sea witch wouldn’t live long that far from the ocean. Perhaps she was just trying to survive. And besides,” you lower your eyelids to half mast, “Isn’t that a little hypocritical? Going as far to distinguish yourself from other humans, but then judge me as if one witch’s actions can be applied to all of us?”

He sits completely still, that black suit jacket and cape slung over his shoulder hide any movement. However, his gloves betray him, and you can see his white cloth fingers tapping on the boulder, as if in contemplation.

Then his eyes drop to your chest.

“I could just take it from you,” he mumbles, then flicks his eyes upward. “Did you consider that? I’m a master thief after all.”

“Oh really,” you say, and sink lower in the water, purposefully allowing it to lap over the pouch dangling from your neck “Then why don’t you go ahead and try?”  
  
He holds your gaze for a moment, then exhales sharply.

His hands clench at the rock beneath him, but your eyes are drawn to the way he wets his lip, then up the line of his nose to look him in the eye again. He rolls his jaw, then reaches for you, shifting his weight onto only one arm. You move back, of course, and sink a little lower than before.

The heel of his supporting palm skids out from underneath him. With a yelp, he draws back and clutches his boulder for balance. Even in such dim starlight, the tremble in his limbs is obvious, as is his scrunched eyelids and harsh breaths.

You hum, loudly. “Or I could just –” you dunk yourself beneath the water completely, swimming to his other side before popping up again, soaking his jacket as you do so “-swim away. Turn into a fish and go down to the seabed. You’d have to dive in to catch me then.”

He opens his eyes to look at you. For a few moments, you stare at each other, until he squeezes his eyes shut again.

“…Okay,” he mutters, “Okay, okay just… how does it-”

In one movement, you brace both arms on the side of his stone and heave yourself half out of the water, leaning over him to take his chin between finger and thumb, cutting off the rest of his sentence. His eyes flick wide open and his pupils dilate. You hear him swallow and stutter through various incomprehensible syllables, as you run the pad of your thumb over his bottom lip.

“Like this.”

You cover his mouth with your own.

His face doesn’t turn stiff, like you half-expected it to. Instead his lips are pliable, soft, and they part under yours with ease. A soft sound comes from his throat as you move, his hands trailing upward to clench in the soaked fabric of your outfit. He bows under your weight and lays back, flat against the stone; breath spiked, mouth matching yours in a way that warms your chest. It almost makes you forget to cast your spell.

But you remember, so you breathe the incantation against his lips.

This is when he stiffens, when his arms lock tight and you run your fingers through his hair to soothe him. You know that he can feel it, that slight sting as the draining spell pricks into his energy reserves. Your veins soon sing with the first few traces of his power.

You’re true to your word and only siphon fraction of it. Then you close the transfer and break your kiss.

He’s quiet, blinking up at you, and you can’t help but think that it’s such a shame. Such beautiful eyes, the crystalline colour of a realm he was too scared to touch. You almost want to take him with you, but, as they say, a deal’s a deal.

So you untie the pouch from around your neck, place it in his palm and curl his fist around it. Then you smile at him, clear and genuine, before you slip back beneath the water.

Later, you’ll come back to this rock and this cliff and so will he. You’ll say that it’s a side-effect of sharing his magic, and you’ll repeat it each time you meet afterwards, until you don’t, because you no longer need the excuse.

But neither of you knows this yet, so you say nothing to him as you leave, sinking down beneath the waves, as they smooth out the ripples in your wake.

As if you were never there.


End file.
